


the sun, the moon, and the north star

by solfell



Series: we grow. it hurts at first. [twill winterborn] [2]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Multi, OT3, Other, Slow Burn, Slow Dancing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:55:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 12,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22811995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solfell/pseuds/solfell
Summary: Collection of romantical writings involving Twill, Morjan, and UnionCross-posted from tumblr.
Relationships: Morjan/Twill, Original Female Character(s)/Original Non-Binary Character(s), Original Female Character/Original Male Character, Twill/Union
Series: we grow. it hurts at first. [twill winterborn] [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1638889
Kudos: 2





	1. Watch (Twill/Union)

**Author's Note:**

> [Related works about Union, written by his player!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22796164)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Twill's super jazzed that Union has depth perception again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> takes place immediately after ---> [this piece](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22796164/chapters/54591484)

Union falls asleep quickly once Twill promises to stay. His fingers, entwined with hers, go slack, but she doesn’t let go. She rests her other hand over his, encompassing.

The grin on her face softens into a quiet smile. She’s so happy for him, it’s almost too much to contain. Her blood sings, joyous and proud. 

Of course, he did fine before, with sight only in one eye, but the way his fingers explored her face, all open wonder and surprise? Being able to watch him _see_ properly again was a special sort of blessing. She’s grateful and glad he decided to go through with the surgery. His bravery makes her feel brave, too.

In the mid-afternoon light, she takes the time to study his face. Freckles and scars and sharp angles all. Inside her chest, her heart gives a heavy thud. Whenever she looks at him, a glorious, tender ache fills her.

He’s always been beautiful–one of the first things she ever thought about him was that he had a kindness that others often didn’t. At least, not any sort of kindness directed at her. Maybe ‘beautiful’ wasn’t the word she used when they first met, but there’s an inarguable beauty to kindness. Union wears that beauty artlessly.

Now, she’s able to see his whole face in the light of day, and not just in the short moments every morning and night when he’d put on or take off his eye patch. Striking doesn’t even come close to how he looks. It barely scrapes the surface of everything she feels for him, and how he makes her feel in return. 

Twill _loves_ him. She’s _in love_ with him.

His hand is warm, skin soft and calloused by turns. She brings it up to her face, lips brushing over his knuckles, before she cradles the back of his hand to her cheek. Eyes fall shut. She listens to his sleep-soft breaths, and matches her own breathing to his.


	2. Dance (Morjan/Twill)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Twill dances with Morjan

It’s late, but not so late that the bar is empty. The lively songs played by the in-house musicians quiet down into something slow and melodic. The music isn’t sad, it’s just calm. A dwindling, thoughtful soundtrack to guide evening into night. The musicians wear soft smiles, and seem to feed on the gentle energy circulating among them.

Twill is a little bit tipsy, but she’s eaten and paced herself with plenty of water. She makes her way back to the table after going to the washroom. Amias and Sylus are talking, possibly debating something, if Sylus’ intense expression is anything to go by. Amias hides a smirk behind his drink.

Morjan looks as if they’re attempting to listen to the conversation, but they aren’t actually interested. Or maybe that distance in their eyes mean they’re distracted, thinking their own thoughts. 

Twill might be projecting, but Morjan looks lonely. Separate. She crosses the room and sidles up to the table. She touches Morjan’s shoulder; they look up at her. 

She holds out her hand. “Dance with me?” Twill asks. She’s smiling, because she’s not used to asking questions like this, yet she’s asking anyway. 

Morjan’s eyes flicker between her face and her hand. A dozen things seem to go through their head, though their expression doesn’t change much. Then they nod and put their hand in hers. Twill’s skin is warmer naturally, being a tiefling and all, but Morjan’s touch is grounding. They smile, and it feels warmer than a bonfire at midwinter.

Part of Twill wants to blurt everything she’s thinking–she’s never danced to music like this, soft and intimate. She doesn’t want to hope or push, because she knows Morjan struggles with believing they’re a person, a real, live person. 

They’re better at dancing than she is, better at moving their feet in complicated patterns, but that isn’t needed right now. Once on the dance floor, Twill spins Morjan in a simple, quick turn before pulling them close.

It’s different, being this close anywhere other than Morjan’s room. Not different in a bad way, but different all the same. Twill is conscious of her hands around their shoulders, and their hands around her waist. A tenseness in them eases, and they let their head rest against Twill’s chest. 

Maybe real dancing is more complicated. Maybe it’s more than just absent shuffling to gentle music, bodies pressed close, comfortable in how they fit together. Maybe none of that matters. No, Twill knows that it doesn’t matter. 

She’s happy when Morjan is near. After chasing wisps of that feeling for years, finding real happiness is an unexpected blessing. 


	3. Sweet (Twill/Union)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Twill kisses Union

As soon as she sees Union, standing in front of the guild house door, she breaks into a run. A tension that’s stretched her thin suddenly eases. Her heart and lungs expand their full width, and she breathes deep for the first time in what feels like years.

She’s careful not to bowl him over when she reaches him, so instead she uses her momentum to swing him up into her arms, spinning a few rotations in a circle. He lets out a half-hearted complaint, while smiling and laughing, but she sets him on his feet again. Her hands stay on his arms, so he doesn’t topple over, and he’s looking up at her, that smile still bright on his face.

“I missed you,” she tells him, voice coming out nearly broken. Her hands move to cradle his cheeks, thumbs brushing over sharp, freckled cheekbones. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you, too,” he replies, fingers wrapped around her wrists. He leans into her touch.

She tilts his head up and ducks down; her lips brush against his, unsure but wanting. He takes a quick breath, stutters on the exhale, and presses himself against her, answering the unasked question. Hands shift, and trace over the sides of her neck, then tangling in her hair. She takes his weight fully, and angles her head, trying to taste the sweetness from his skin.


	4. Make (Morjan/Twill; Twill/Union)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I really like the concept of lovespoons, okay? Sue me.

Before dawn, she rolls out of bed. Union grumbles a complaint, not actually awake. She kisses his forehead and smooths back some of his wayward hair. “I won’t be long,” she murmurs, and his only response is a sigh. She watches him for a moment, to make sure he doesn’t wake.

A smile blooms on her face; he’s beautiful. 

As much as she’d like to watch over Union, she has a mission. A plan. Well, most of a plan, to be honest, and one that will require some stealth. It’s incredibly unfortunate that she isn’t good at hiding anything. She’ll try anyway. 

Not everything about Fyrkat was horrible—there are facets of her clan’s culture that she loves and finds value in. Her respect for nature, more than anything else. The people in Fyrkat were dedicated to working alongside nature, not against it. To take advantage of the earth was to invite misfortune, and Twill’s never doubted the truth of that.

For every cruelty she had to unlearn from her clan, there’s a fragment of information or a custom that’s worth keeping.

One of her favorite traditions is the practice of giving courting spoons. The spoons themselves are wooden and intricately carved with symbols special to the recipient. No one ever really took the time to explain to her why spoons, wooden or otherwise, but she’s figured it out on her own. Making anything takes skill and effort, and by applying both, she proves she’s capable and willing to work for the people she loves most.

Besides, her hands have been itching for days to craft, to make, to build something, anything, that shows her feelings in ways words can’t.

She’s going to carve courting spoons.

Vast woodlands sprawl out behind the guildhall. Twill slips between the trees, and moves through the wilderness with practiced ease. Despite how much easier it’s become to be in towns and cities, surrounded by people and noise, she feels most herself when alone among trees. 

Finding the right materials isn’t something to rush. She wanders, and has faith that the Wildmother will guide her steps to wherever she needs to be.

There’s a small brook that winds its way through the trees, shallow but present. The brook becomes a path, and she walks along the banks, while focusing on her task.

Union and Morjan aren’t from Othanzia. They’ve never spent time among her clan—they don’t know the customs, but that’s alright. So many people exchange flowers and tokens to show affection, and she’s doing something similar to that. 

What she carves will outlast any living bloom she could offer.

When it comes to carvings, she chiefly relies on deadwood, so she doesn’t have to cut down or de-limb healthy trees. Nature is rife with resources—and Twill finds everything she needs on the forest floor. 

She returns to the guildhall with pieces of cherry and oak in her bag. The coming days are going to be interesting–finding the time to carve on her own will be a greater challenge than the carvings themselves, she suspects. Excitement thrums in her veins. She isn’t the sort of person who backs down from a challenge.


	5. Lavender (Twill/Union)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Twill washes Union's hair

Union’s arms are folded on the edge of the tub, with his chin resting on his forearms. He flashes a sweet smile when she enters the bathroom. “Twill,” he murmurs, voice sleepy.

The air is thick with heat and moisture; it smells like hearth fire and lavender. Twill peels off her rain-soaked clothes and leaves them in a heap on the floor. He’ll get on her case later for it, but right now she’s too tired and chilled to care.

She climbs into the tub behind him, using his shoulders to steady herself while stepping over the edge. She settles and spends more than a few moments just soaking in the warmth from his skin and the bathwater.

Once she’s thawed, she goes for the bottle of shampoo she keeps by the tub and pours a generous amount onto Union’s damp hair. With gentle, circling motions, she washes his hair, starting at the roots and working her way down. He lets out a soft sound, and tips his head back, giving her better access. She moves back a little bit, just to accommodate his horns.

Beneath the water, his tail winds its way around her waist, a loose, calm loop of added warmth, like a reminder.

“Close your eyes,” she murmurs when she rinses his hair, even though she has a hand shielding his face from wayward suds. When she’s done, she draws his hair to the side and presses her lips to the tattoo at the base of his neck. She shifts and leaves a trail of open mouthed kisses along his freckled shoulders, and his breath shudders. Her hands slip around to press against his chest. 

There’s a steady, strong heartbeat beneath her palm.

“I love you,” she says, voice low, lips hovering just above his skin.

His hands cover hers, pulling her embrace tighter. “I love you, too,” he replies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't worry, she conditions his hair too


	6. Union (Twill/Union)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wrote smut, y'all

When Union returns to their room, Twill’s sitting at the vanity, brushing her freshly washed hair. The end of her tail sweeps languidly back and forth across floor. She’s wearing nothing except a slight smile and black lingerie. Twill hears more than sees him pause, and then the door closes and the lock clicks into place. 

She half turns to look at him. A light blush spreads across his cheeks, and his eyebrows arch high.

Twill holds her hairbrush out, a questioning tilt to her head. Union blinks rapidly, as if startled out of his thoughts, and he crosses the room, only stumbling a little bit. Fingers card through her still-damp hair; he scratches over her scalp with the very tips of his nails. Twill’s eyes close and she leans back into him.

He plucks the brush from her hands and begins teasing out all the tangles and snarls. His touch is steady and sure. After fending for herself for so long, having Union dote on her feels like a blessing.

Once her hair is smooth and glossy, Union presses a kiss to the top of her head. “Were you planning on wearing this to bed?” he asks, fingers tracing over her bra strap, collarbone to shoulder blade. 

She meets his gaze in the mirror, and grins. “No, I wasn’t.” 

His blush deepens. He smiles back. “Well, then,” he says.

“I can wear it for a little bit longer,” she offers, “if you’d like.”

“I would, actually.”

Twill spins around in her seat so she’s facing Union, bracketing his legs between her own. Her hands go to his hips; thumbs dip under his shirt to brush at the skin near the waistband of his pants.

He cradles her face in his hands and swoops down to capture her lips. She flattens her palms against his belly, shirt rucked up a few inches. She rubs her knees along the outside of his thighs, relishing any and all contact. 

His lips move away from hers, skirting over her chin, cheek, temple, forehead.

She tugs on his shirt. “Off?”

He nods and steps back to pull his shirt over his head. Twill stands, and as soon as the garment hits the floor, she’s on him again, hands grazing over the planes of his stomach, chest, shoulders. 

She kisses him until he’s clinging to her, hands against her neck and hair, his knees weak and wobbling. He whimpers against her mouth, and she smiles. His skin is warmer than normal, and she feels like she’s won something. Then again, she has his heart. What greater prize is there?

“Okay?” she murmurs, shuffling back towards the bed. His hands curve around her waist, unwilling to let her move too far away. 

“Yes.” He nods.

She falls backwards onto the bed and sprawls against the blankets and pillows, arms flung up over her head. Union follows, kneeling between her legs.

“Resplendent,” he breathes, eyes running up and down her body.

Heat blooms in her cheeks and she fights the urge to cover her face.

“Truly.” He sits back on his heels. His hands rest on her bent knees. “Would you prefer if I didn’t–?” Worry colors his expression. 

“No, I like it. It’s nice,” she rushes to say. “Thank you. Really. I know you mean it, and that’s… that’s still something I’m getting used to.”

He takes one of her hands and kisses her palm, then holds it against his cheek. “You deserve to be cherished, love.”

Twill throws her arm over her face. “Do you want me to cry the first time we have sex?” she asks, voice muffled by the crook of her elbow.

There’s a charmed smile in his voice. “I never want you to cry, but if you need to, that’s fine.”

She huffs a laugh, and peeks up at him from under her arm. His expression is all fondness and sincerity and, oh gods, how did she get lucky enough to have him? 

“Kiss me?” she asks.

“Gladly.”

He starts at her mouth, gentle and soft, then insistent and heated. Twill nips at his bottom lip, unable to stop the smile from curling the corners of her mouth. He pulls back and gives her a goofy smile, like he’s just delighted to be near her, kissing her. His lips find the corner of her jaw and move down her neck, towards her chest. Her hands grip his shoulders, upper arms, clinging while he presses the flat of his tongue over her lace-covered nipples. 

Twill inhales, sharply. “Please.”

He kisses the center of her chest, along her stomach, the crest of her hip, the inside of her thighs. Every time he moves to a new spot, his tongue flickers out, tasting her skin. His hands slide over her body, leaving trails of heat.

His fingers slip under the straps that span her hips, nails tracing light circles over the skin there. She shivers. His gaze meets hers. “May I?”

She nods and shifts her hips so he can pull her underwear off. Twill ends up nearly kicking him in the head. “Sorry!” she squeaks, but a near miss is still a miss. He waves away the apology and tosses her underthings over his shoulder.

Anticipation has her fingers clutching the bedsheets; Union lays on his stomach between her legs, brushes his mouth up the inside of her thighs.

He starts with an open-mouthed kiss; her hips buck against is mouth. His hand leaves her thigh and presses firmly down on her hipbone. He isn’t strong enough to hold her there if she really wanted to move, but she goes still all the same.

She tugs at the tie around his ponytail, and once freed she rakes her hands through his hair. His tongue explores her folds, tracing and teasing. It soon becomes apparent that he’s taking his own sweet time, lapping at her wetness, humming in contentment. His tongue flickers over her clit before swirling back down. The hand on her hip slides up and splays out over her sternum. His skin is so warm, every touch kindles the fire that lives in her veins. 

Hands tighten in his hair when his tongue slips inside her; he makes a sound of approval when she pulls at his hair again, not roughly, but definitely felt. The noises he makes sends slivers of pleasure through her, and she gasps, fighting the urge to yank on his hair and fuck herself on his tongue. Next time, she tells herself, thoughts distant and fuzzy.

He lifts his face just a fraction. “May I use my fingers?” he wonders. His mouth is only a hairsbreadth away from her, breath hot.

Twill’s reply is garbled nonsense but her vigorous nod gets the message across.

He smiles and goes back to using his lips and tongue on her.

“Union,” she begs, gripping his hair. “Babe, please.”

He hums again, acknowledging. Twill’s about to throw a fit when he slips two fingers inside her, curling upwards, shifting, stroking in tandem with his mouth. Pressure builds slow, a rising flood, in her chest, her gut, her core. Breath comes in soft gasps, hitching, shaking, and Union slowly increases his pace until he’s wringing the pleasure out of her.

A low, keening moan escapes her throat; her back arches upwards, legs closing tight around Union’s head, one hand fisted in his hair, the other in the pillow beneath her head–his tongue and fingers don’t stop moving until she shudders and jerks, overstimulated and sensitive.

She catches her breath and Union moves up the bed to lay beside her. 

“You’re really good at that,” she pants.

There’s a tiny spitting sound, and Twill looks over to see him pluck a dark, wiry hair out of his mouth. She’s never really been one to… trim or shave.

“Oh gods, I’m sorry,” she blurts.

“No, no, it’s alright,” he soothes. The flushed color in his face has spread to his throat and chest, the tips tips of his ears, too. There’s a slightly dazed look in his eyes; his hair is mussed. “I quite enjoyed myself.”

He definitely looks like he did, mouth and chin wet from her.

Twill snorts and bursts into giggles. Union joins her, face tucked against her neck and shoulder. She kisses his forehead when she calms down. 

“I’ve had your hair in my mouth before,” he points out.

“Yeah, but hair from my head is a little bit different.”

“It’s still you, though.”

His words strike her, piercing deep into her chest. Twill smiles, and it wobbles at the corners. Her eyes are suddenly damp. “I love you. A lot.”

His entire expression softens. “I love you, too.”

When their mouths meet again, she tastes herself on him, and sucks on his tongue, enjoying the mild, salty musk. Against his lips, she asks, “Can I return the favor?”

“By all means.”

She flashes a grin and wedges her hands under his knees, bodily moving him so he’s at the edge of the bed. He lets out a small yelp at the sudden movement–and steadies his hands on her shoulders. She kneels on the floor and runs her hands up the underside of his thighs. He’s still wearing his pants, which is a shame. Next time they do this, he gets to wear lingerie and she’ll stay mostly clothed. 

Besides all that, his pants don’t look particularly comfortable right now. She rubs a hand over his erection, grinning at the way he jolts up against her palm. She makes quick work of his pants and underthings. They land somewhere on the floor and Twill immediately stops caring that they exist. 

To even the playing field, she unclasps her bra and discards it. Union’s eyes are wide when they meet hers. She’s never been good at controlling her face, and she’s sure she must be looking at him with a hungry expression. 

He doesn’t seem to mind–on the contrary he looks thrilled. The flush spreading down from his cheeks make his freckles stand out even more; Twill promises herself that she’ll give his freckles the proper amount of attention they deserve later.

For now, there are more pressing matters. Like the rapid rise and fall of his chest, and the fact that she was right–his cock is just as gorgeous as she imagined. She takes a moment to study him, from the tips of his horns down to his toes. 

“You’re beautiful,” she tells him, awed.

He ducks his head, and beams.

She scoots closer, palms spanning his belly and hips. She takes him in her hand and strokes a few times, just enjoying the feel of him, and his quiet, breathy sighs. She kisses the tip of his cock, tongue tracing the slit, before mouthing along the shaft, taking in the amazing smell and taste of him. Lavender and fire.

This has always been something she enjoyed–putting her mouth on someone, savoring another’s pleasure, and Union responds so splendidly to her curious, exploratory touches. He’s all hushed moans and halted shifting, wanting to move along with her, but not quite having the purchase or leverage. He leans back on his hands, fingers digging into the bedding.

Twill licks a slow stripe from the root of his cock to the tip, tongue mapping, dipping around his foreskin, then she wraps her lips around him. His heel hits her arm, she grabs his ankle and sets his foot on her shoulder. She holds his other leg up and out, fingers pressed beneath his knee, making sure she has enough room.

Her first few bobs are shallow, reveling in his weigh on her tongue; she gradually takes more of him into her mouth, as deep as she can go, while her hand works at the base. His tail curls around her upper arm, like he’s trying to keep her close.

She rocks her whole body into him, sucking hard then soft, then hard again. Her fingers find his taint; she massages the spot in small circles, increasing pressure while she slurps and swallows down on his cock. 

His eyes are closed when she looks up at him; he’s panting, jaw slack. As if he feels her eyes, his flutter open. Their gazes meet and hold. Hers, dark, and his, purple on black, blue on white–mismatched colors, perhaps, but still his. Still absolutely breathtaking.

There’s a degree of grace that comes with seeing and being seen.

He half-whines her name when she pulls off of him, and pouts at her while she sucks a mark on the jut of his hipbone. He has no reason to complain; she’s cradling his balls and still drawing shapes on his taint. 

“Sorry,” she says, “I want to let you finish, but inside me, if that’s okay?”

“More than,” he gasps.

She grins, and it feels almost feral.

Manhandling him again, she lays him out on the bed and sits high up on his thighs. He’s slick with her saliva, shiny and florid against his belly. She rubs herself over his length, mixing her wetness with her spit. Honestly, she could peak just from this, riding against him.

His hands knead the meat of her thighs, back arching, hips twisting into her. She curls forward to kiss him, fucking her tongue alongside his, tickling the roof of his mouth. He moans against her lips, and she reaches down, hips raised, to guide him inside her. She settles with a sigh, their hips flush, and only then does she draw away from the kiss.

She plants her hands on her chest, over his lungs and heart, and rolls her hips, slow, like the rise and fall of waves. She kisses the corner of his jaw, his throat, sucks a mark just above his collarbone.

Union makes a soft sound, almost a gasp, and his hands tighten on her thighs, and then grip her hips. With each of her movements, he responds, shifting beneath her, meeting her rhythm, matching her pace, feet flat on the bed, knees bent.

She presses her temple to his, lets him guide her, angling her hips as his hands dictate.

“Twill.” It’s a plea, a prayer, and she can’t help but respond, moving faster, hunting down his bliss as well as her own.

He throws his head back, releasing a sharp cry. She licks up he exposed line of his throat and keeps riding him through the aftershocks. He whimpers, and she goes still, feels him pulse once, twice more inside her.

Her next kiss is hard and needy. Union responds unhurried, letting her take what she wants.

She rolls off of him and she’s so close, she’s gasping for release. Her fingers go straight to her clit, circling tight.

Union leans up, halfway over her, hair draped over his shoulder, a cascade of silver-white. Twill tries to tell him again that he’s beautiful, but he pulls her into a searing kiss before she can speak. Her fingers move quicker, her hips squirm and shift, seeking more–she groans into his mouth when she climaxes a second time.

His kisses go all sweet and tender while she comes back down to herself. 

She lets out a great, gusty, sated sigh. There’s quiet for a few long moments, just their breathing and pounding hearts slowing into calmness. Union presses idle kisses to her face, and she tries to respond despite her fatigue. She draws errant shapes over his skin with her fingers, across his shoulders, down his spine, over his ribs.

“I’ve always thought that sex is fun, but it’s so much better with someone you love,” she comments, lazily.

Union rests his forehead on hers. He’s smiling. “I couldn’t agree more, dearest.”


	7. Beauty (Morjan/Twill)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morjan/Twill fluff, because I'm a soft baby, which everyone knows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this takes place immediately after [twill gives morjan a cloak of elvenkind for their birthday](https://solfell-dnd.tumblr.com/post/190083280737/gift-twill-and-morjan)

Twill kisses Morjan until she feels lightheaded. It’s not an uncomfortable feeling–she’s too giddy for anything to feel bad. She pulls back, just to breathe for a moment or two, before she catches their lips again, a shorter, sweeter kiss than the previous ones. 

She presses her forehead to the crown of Morjan’s head, hands against their spine, holding them close. Morjan clings back, standing on the tips of their toes, fingers tangling in her hair.

Twill shifts back to look down at their face; she smiles, cheeks flushed and pulse galloping. She brushes at the tear tracks on their face with her knuckles, then kisses the places where those tears fell. 

Morjan’s eyes close and their arms tighten around her neck. They let out the softest of sighs, a contented sound that leaves Twill a little bit winded. So much for catching her breath. Twill kisses their temple, soaks in the warmth of their skin.

“What were you doing before I came in?” Twill wonders, voice low.

While Morjan fetches their notebook and begins explaining what they’ve discovered about the seedier parts of Westruun, Twill takes their hand and pulls them towards the bed. She sits with her back against the headboard and pats the space next to her.

Morjan’s knees hit the edge of the bed. Their words stutter to a stop. They just look at Twill, as if suddenly awestruck. 

Twill’s reminded of all the times Morjan’s told her that she’s beautiful, but she doesn’t hold a candle to how gorgeous they are, especially right now. Blushing, bright-eyed, happy. Gods, they’ve looked so sad recently, so withdrawn. Only now can Twill really see the difference. 

She reaches out to tuck some hair behind Morjan’s ear, then rests her hand against the side of their neck. “Come on,” she says, and draws them in. “Sit with me?”

Morjan kneels on the edge of the bed; Twill leans up, angling for another kiss, and Morjan obliges. When they finally tuck themselves against Twill, legs slung across her lap, Twill loops her arm around their waist. 

Morjan opens their notebook; the words inside are in some sort of code or language that Twill can’t decipher. Lucky for her, Morjan is here to translate.


	8. Sway (Morjan/Twill)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hammocks are great for cuddles and naps

In a fit of stress-induced insanity, Twill bought a hammock while the party was in Shorecomb. A nonsensical purchase, perhaps, but one she stands by since everything was terrible and hellish in that cursed city. She deserved something that made her feel a little bit better, even if that meant spending money.

She doesn’t get to set the hammock up until coming back from Tal’dorei, however, and the weather is less than ideal for it. Still, she doesn’t let that stop her––when has the cold ever bothered her, anyway? 

So, she finds a place to hang the hammock among the handful of trees that dot the small tract of land between the house and the guildhall. Once satisfied, she loads her arms up with the house’s unused blankets and pillows, determined to take a nap outside. 

Admittedly, turning the hammock into a nest of soft things makes Twill feel like a squirrel. The end result is about the same–squirrel nests aren’t known for being pretty or sturdy-looking, but they get the job done. She all but rolls into the hammock, and wiggles and twists around until properly swaddled. From the outside, the only visible parts of her are the top of her horns and head and the very end of her fur-tipped tail.

A slight breeze rocks the hammock just enough to lull her into a doze. Hmm, she thinks distantly, this must be why she bought the hammock. It’s nice. Having nice things is… well, nice.

There’s a slight sound of footfalls on leaves, pointedly intentional. Twill wiggles her head until her face peeks out from her cocoon. Morjan’s a few feet away, arms wrapped around their chest. They look cold and uncomfortable, shoulders hiked high and face carefully impassive. The breeze takes a harsh turn, and tugs free a few strands of hair from the braid Twill wove for them this morning.

Their expression shifts from placid to unsure, and they clear their throat. “Do you, um, mind if I join you? I don’t really want to be around people right now, but being alone sounds worse.”

Twill nods and lifts the corner of her blankets. “Two bodies are better than one when it comes to warmth and naps,” she says with a small smile. “I’d be more than happy to have you here with me.”

“Thanks.” They let out a breath, almost a relived sigh, as if they half-expected her to say no. Like Twill could ever deny them anything they wanted. Maybe they don’t know that yet. 

Morjan pulls off their boots, and begins visibly shivering. They climb beneath the blankets with all the grace she’s come to expect from them, barely making the hammock shift. After some shuffling, they settle along Twill’s side, mostly on top of her. Legs slot together, their arms folded to the sides like a bird; Morjan lets their head _thunk_ down on Twill’s chest. 

Twill tucks the blankets back into place, bundling Morjan in with her. One of her hands rests on the small of their back while the other goes to their head. “Can I play with your hair? I’ll rebraid it later,” she promises.

They nod, and Twill drops a kiss to the top of their head. Their hair smells nice, like the lavender soap Union tends to buy; she tells them as much. From what she can see of their face, their lips curl into a slight smile, and they nuzzle their face into her collarbone. Twill weaves her fingers through their hair, undoing the crown-like braids, untangling the snarls.

The wind picks up again; the hammock sways, slow. Twill begins to hum an old Othanzian lullaby, one she doesn’t quite know the words to. It was never something her mother sang to her, but she heard it sung to her siblings. It seems fitting that she only knows the melody, so she’s never tried to learn lyrics.

Morjan lets out a gusty sigh, and all remaining tension flows out of their body. Soon after, they’re sound asleep. Twill untangles her fingers from their hair, and smooths it back into place. She runs her hand up and down their spine, three or four passes before just resting her palm over their ribs, rising and falling with their breaths.

Between the warmth trapped within the blankets and Morjan’s comfortable weight against her, Twill drifts. Her heart is calm and full. She falls into an easy, dreamless sleep.


	9. Low (Twill/Union)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Union has an off day, or as Banana puts it: "Dad is big sad today."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: depression issues / bad mental health day

It’s when Twill repeats her question a third time that she realizes something is off. The cats knew before she did; they’ve been hovering around Union more than usual ever since this morning. Banana has her face shoved against Union’s side, while Lord is sprawled in his lap, lightly dozing. Neither of them have budged since Union settled on the bed to read.

Union blinks, and lifts his head from his book. He hasn’t actually turned a page in over fifteen minutes. Twill’s been keeping track; she was trying to write a letter to Cambric, but the desk has a good view of the bed. It’s impossible for her not to notice.

“What was that, dearest?” he asks, and sets his book down on the bedside table. Even his voice is distant. The words are right, but his inflection isn’t.

Twill sets down her quill and puts a stopper in the ink pot. “What do you want for lunch?” she asks, then stands and stretches her arms over her head. It’s not the question she’d been asking–knowing if there are two e’s in argument isn’t important anymore.

Confusion shifts over his face. “Is it already time for–? I can make something.”

“The cats are on you, moving would be a crime,” she says and Lord makes a grumbling sound, as if he agrees. Twill crosses the room and cups Union’s face in her hands. Yes, her previous suspicions were right–he’s not quite himself today. She kisses the scars on his forehead, eyelid, cheek, and then moves to his lips, quick enough that he doesn’t get a chance to respond. “So, any requests?”

He smiles, brittle. “I’m sure anything you make will be fine.”

“Stay put, I won’t take too long,” she tells him, and backs out of the room.

-

While shuffling about the kitchen, Twill murmurs the incantations of one of her most-used spells–speak with animals. It’s good she can multitask–spell rituals and cooking would be disastrous otherwise. Granted, she’s not actually cooking, she’s just heating up leftovers from last night’s dinner. Union made more than enough butter chicken and rice, and even went easy on the spice for Twill’s sake.

Besides, Marquesian food always tastes better the day after it’s made.

Once her spell is cast, and the food warmed, she loads the rice and curry into bowls heads back upstairs. 

Union’s book is still on the nightstand. He’s staring out the window, hands folded loosely in his lap. 

“Hey, strawberry,” she greets. “I figured it would take less time to get some leftovers instead of cooking? I didn’t want to settle for sandwiches when there’s plenty of butter chicken available. I think I’ll make pasta for dinner, though.”

She climbs up onto the bed beside him and hands him a bowl. Banana relocates, curling up on Twill’s lap, but still keeping her head smooshed into Union.

“Thank you, love,” he says, and there’s more strength to his smile.

Union eats, slow and measured. Twill scarfs down her own meal, which is kind of a shame, since it’s food worthy of being savored. But she has a plan, and that plan can’t happen if there’s food in her mouth. 

Once she’s finished, she sets her dishes aside and gives Lord’s ear a little tug. He half-glares at her, not actually hurt or upset. She likes to make him indignant. It’s funny.

“Mother,” he says, words drawling. “You wish to speak?”

“I do, yeah. You and your sister seem to know what’s going on with Union?” she asks the cat. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice sooner.”

Union’s familiar enough with her spells that he is utterly unfazed by her switch from common to animal sounds.

Lord’s eyes flicker to Union, then back to Twill. “It isn’t particularly noticeable, I suspect, unless one is as attuned to him as you obviously are. When you and the others were gone, there were a handful of days like this,” he tells her, and lets out a sigh. “The darkness always passed, but–”

Banana whines, “Dad is big sad today. Extra big sad.”

“I understand, weasel,” Twill says and pets the spot between her shoulder blades.

“What are they saying?” Union wonders.

“You seem sad.”

Union blinks and his gaze turns down towards his half-full bowl. He twists his spoon idly, creating a divot in the rice. “I feel foggy. Distant? I’m not sure how else to describe it.”

“Lord said you’ve been like this before.”

He’s quiet, then inclines his head in a nod. “There are periods of time that… don’t properly exist in my memory. I’ve forgotten, or wasn’t aware,” he says. “It blurs together.” He sets his food on the nightstand and scratches under Lord’s chin. A rumbling purr fills the hushed air. “It happened when we were travelling, too, I think.”

“I guess it’s kind of hard to know when you can’t really remember,” she comments. “There were times like that when I lived in the wilderness. Days and weeks of my brain being hazy. Going through the motions.”

“Yes, that sounds…” He doesn’t finish the sentence, but nods again.

“Would you like it if I read to you?” Twill wonders. “You can just listen, no focus required.”

He looks at her with fond eyes. “I would, yes.”

Twill shoos the cats away momentarily, and shifts Union and herself around on the bed. Once settled, Union’s head in her lap, and cats flanking him on both sides, Twill grabs his book. Instead of reading where the bookmark is, she flips forward a few pages, to the beginning of the chapter. Her free hand plucks at his hair tie and she combs her fingers through the loose strands.

Twill clears her throat and begins to read. Banana and Lord purr, creating a soft undulating rumble beneath her voice.


	10. Falling (Twill/Union; Morjan/Twill)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Twill is susceptible to falling in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not chronological at all, just a mishmash of twill's feelings at various points in time

Once they’re back in their room, Twill takes off her breastplate; Union sets his gauntlets carefully on the desk. The smell of soot and smoke lingers in their hair and on their clothes. That doesn’t stop Twill from pulling him close again. He falls easily into her arms, and huddles against her chest. Her cheek rests on his forehead.

Her heart aches; she would do anything to keep him from pain. 

-

The three nights after the warehouse fire, Twill dreams. The shadows that haunt her subconscious are pale and weak. She walks down a nondescript hallway. There aren’t windows or any discernible source of light, but with each step she takes, the shadows fade more and more. 

She opens a door to a room she’s never seen, but there’s a warm sense of familiarity here. It’s a bedroom—hers, maybe. The glaive she left in the underdark is propped up against the far wall. There’s a writing desk in one corner, a table in the other. Two windows, where the sun pours in, casting rays over the bed. 

Twill closes the door. She isn’t alone here. But then again, she hasn’t been alone since meeting Union in Vasselheim. Speaking of, Union is asleep on the sun-dappled bed, on his stomach with arms folded around a pillow.

Crisp white sheets, a halo of pale hair, the slope of his bare back, red skin dotted with freckles—Twill is drawn to him. She couldn’t fight it even if she wanted to.

With one knee on the bed, she leans down, brushing hair aside, to kiss his shoulder. She runs a hand down his spine. Union makes a soft sound, rousing slow. He turns his head to look at her; both of his eyes are whole and seeing. He smiles, and props himself up on his elbows.

“Twill,” he says with a fondness that tugs at some untouched space within her ribs.

“Hey.” She bends down, her lips seeking his and—

Twill wakes, heart pounding. She stares up at top of the tent she shares with Union. Night still covers the land. Everything is quiet and still. Beside her, Union’s sleeping, curled against her arm and side. 

Even after her heart calms, she struggles to fall back asleep.

She’s in love with her best friend.

—

After her rage calms, the pain in her body comes roaring back. It’s astounding how much her anger shields her during a fight.

A gossamer hand appears in the corner of her sight—mage hand, Cade’s—and it gently knuckles away the blood on her lips. With a subtle twist of his fingers, the spelled hand winks away, job apparently done.

Twill’s gaze meets his across the room; he doesn’t quite smile, but there’s an acknowledgement in his eyes, and something that comes close to _softness_.

_Oh_ , she thinks, realization hitting harder than enemy blows. _Oh, I see._

He once told her that she’s more than what she seems. Those were not empty words—she’s heard more than enough of those from him. Since coming clean about his past, Twill hasn’t detected a single lie from him, in either word or action.

She smiles at him, thankful and warm.

—

Morjan flees into the night, leaving the warmth and light of the campfire. Twill is the first to stand. Union looks ready to go after them, too, but stays seated. She gives him what she hopes is a reassuring look. He nods in return.

Twill stalks off after Morjan; they’re not even trying to go unseen, their footfalls easy to find in the sand. They aren’t just running away, they’re escaping.

“Be careful,” Sylus warns her. “We don’t know what’s out there.”

Twill mutters, “No promises.”

“Twill.”

“I understand. We’ll be okay,” she says.

Morjan moves fast, but Twill is quick, too. It doesn’t take long before she finds them. They have their arms wrapped tight around themselves, protective. Twill calls their name, and they spin in her direction. She moves in close, and takes their hands in her own, gentle enough that they can pull away if they want. They don’t, and maybe that’s a sign they’re not going to run again.

The conversation is a blur; Morjan sobs openly, shaking, afraid. They don’t know who they are, who they want to be, and if they’re just playacting at the whole ‘being a good person’ thing. Like they’ve playacted everything else in their life.

Their shoulders are weighed down by past sins committed and old masks they’ve worn. If Twill could, she’d draw this hurt from them, like venom from a wound. But she can’t, she only has herself and her words. Maybe if she keeps trying, it will be enough.

“It’s hard work being anyone or anything,” Twill tells them. “Being yourself, whatever, whoever that is, takes effort and time and it’s not easy.” She gives their hands a soft squeeze, and fights the urge to kiss their knuckles. That might be too much, right now.

Twill continues, “And good people? They’re really only good because they do good things. Bad people don’t worry about how their actions affect people.”

Morjan nods, but there’s still heavy doubt on their face. They aren’t crying anymore, though, and their breath is almost back to normal.

“Can I hug you?”

“Yes, please.”

Twill holds Morjan tight; their arms cinch around her, fingers closing around the loose folds of her shirt. Twill lets her cheek drop onto the top of Morjan’s head.

“I love you,” Twill says. “No matter who or what you are, or whoever you become. I love you.”

Morjan pulls away to look up at her, confused and unsure. Startled.

Sharpness pierces Twill’s heart—not a wound, but an awareness. She feels staggered, not physically, but emotionally. Twill loves Morjan. Of course, she’s known that for weeks. She just didn’t realize that she’s in love with them, too. Not until now.

It doesn’t change anything. Twill will be a good friend to them, as good as she can be. How she loves them isn’t what matters.

—

She leaves Fyrkat. Hours turn to days, turn to weeks, and then months. Seasons blur from one to the next to the one after that. Twill’s heart is hot spark, burning an endless wick of anger.

It isn’t until Vasselheim that she finds a place to set that anger down.

Everyone she’s met since leaving Fyrkat wants something from her. Her strength, her skill with a glaive, her body— _something_. Union is the first person who looks at her without expectations.

Nevan was the only other person who looked at her like that.

In the following months, while traveling with the people who become her friends, her family, Twill unfurls, like a flower opening towards the sun. The anger is a tool, not an ever-present cloud hanging over her, fueling every action. She sees more and more of her past and herself with clearer, brighter eyes.

It isn’t comfortable or easy, but she comes to learn that before she ever had feelings for another person, she first fell in love with Nevan. 

That’s what he was teaching her all along—how to be loved, and how to be in love. 


	11. Worth (Morjan/Twill/Union)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Twill has two hands, you know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [takes places after this piece](https://solfell-dnd.tumblr.com/post/615297738858496000/together-twill-morjan-and-union)

Twill’s laying her side, propped on her elbow, cheek resting on her palm. A soft darkness shrouds the room, creating a den-like atmosphere. Everything is quiet, muted. It feels like she’s the only person awake in the whole wide world, a lone sentinel watching over the ones she loves most.

Morjan is curved into the hollow of Twill’s body, their back against her chest. Union’s on their other side, close enough that Twill can drape her arm over Morjan’s side to rest a hand on his waist. Her thumb sweeps back and forth, slow, over where his shirt’s shifted to expose skin.

Union has Morjan gathered up in his arms; their head is tucked under his chin. Twill should sleep, too, but she can’t bring herself to join her… partners? That’s what they are now, right? The three of them, together. Twill almost wouldn’t believe her luck, but this feels _right_. There’s no doubt in her heart–not when she’s with them.

It won’t always be easy. The discussions to even get here were hard and sometimes nerve-racking. Twill doesn’t have much practical relationship experience, but she’s smart enough to know that being close to anyone isn’t so straightforward. Vulnerability is a learned skill. They all have histories and hurts that can’t be glossed over. No, it won’t always be easy, but Twill isn’t discouraged.

“You’re worth the effort,” she sighs under her breath. “You’re both so very worth the effort.”

She presses her lips to the crown of Morjan’s head, and brushes the back of her knuckles against Union’s cheek. Neither stirs at her touch. A smile blooms on Twill’s face. She hums, fond and pleased, gentle enough to blend in with the softness of night.


	12. Shadow (Morjan/Twill/Union)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morjan wakes in the middle of the night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> takes place at some random point in the future, idk it's something i wrote when i got the greenlight for ot3 goodness
> 
> my friends are horrible enablers and i thank the gods for them every day

She’s woken by the shifting beside her; Union is tucked against her left side, breath soft on her arm, but her right side is cold. She sits up and Union curls into the warm spot she leaves behind. His tail coils over her hip.

Morjan sits at the edge of the bed. The moon is waning, but it’s bright enough to cast the room in dim light. They’re wearing one of Twill’s old shirts; the wide collar droops partially off a shoulder. Whenever Union or Morjan steal Twill’s clothes, they pretty much swim in them. It might be funny if it weren’t for the way Twill’s heart flutters whenever she sees them.

The scars on Morjan’s limbs are almost silvery beneath the pale moonlight. The edge of the scar on their chest, the one that marks a killing blow, is in shadow. It wouldn’t be noticeable if Twill didn’t already know its shape and breadth. Twill puts her hand on their shoulder; their skin is clammy, covered in a cold sweat. They stiffen at her touch, but then force themselves not to flinch away. 

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” they mutter. Their hands are curled into loose fists, shaking in their lap. Violet eyes downcast, staring at nothing at all. “Sorry.”

She scoots closer and her hand moves across their shoulders, then down their back. Her other hand reaches out to take theirs, and she folds their fingers together. “I don’t mind,” Twill says.

The sound they make is almost a laugh, but it’s too choked and sharp. It hurts to hear. “You should.” They won’t meet Twill’s eyes, but there was a time when they wouldn’t be here at all, not in this room or this bed, not any place where someone could see them hurting. 

“What is it?” she asks.

“Bad dreams. Memories,” they amend. They squeeze her hand.

“Anything I can do to help?”

They shake their head. 

“Why are we awake?” Union says, voice muffled by a pillow. He lifts his head and blinks a few times before his eyes clear. “Ah,” he breaths, soft, and clambers to wrap his arms around Morjan. He presses his face to their hair. 

Morjan’s free hand grasps Union’s wrist. They take deep breath, and exhale slowly. Morjan slumps back. They let Twill and Union support them.


	13. Speak (Morjan/Twill/Union)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Juniper is best boy worg

Twill re-summons Juniper the next morning. It’s only been a day and a half since she dismissed him, but as soon as he appears beside her, he lets out a low, irritated grumble. His lip curls, revealing sharp teeth. It’s all for show–his ears are perked forward and his tail thumps against the ground. 

“You have a really bad poker face,” Twill informs him while scratching along his chin.

His growl is halfhearted.

She drops her voice and says, “I missed you too, June. I promise, I won’t be sending you away anytime soon.”

Juniper offers a short nod, and his eyes follow something beyond Twill’s shoulder. She turns to look; Morjan and Union are standing near the cart, checking over the bags and making sure Boudicca’s harness sits right.

Twill pats Juniper’s shoulder. “You don’t need my permission to say hi.” 

He’s off like a shot, long legs crossing the distance in a single bound. He skids to a stop next to Union and Morjan, and immediately presses his face against the nearest person, who happens to be Morjan.

Juniper is usually good at not knocking people over, but it’s a close call. Morjan is graceful enough to stay on their feet, mostly by grabbing hold of the mane-like fur around June’s neck. They’re smiling, though, so Twill isn’t going to lecture him too much later. Union reaches out to scratch behind Juniper’s ear; her worg does a full body wiggle that’s more suited to a small puppy.

June has no shame, but that’s one of the reasons she loves him.

Twill begins to make her way over to the cart. Juniper says something in Infernal–she recognizes the cadence, but can’t make out the words–and both Union and Morjan pause before both their faces go a bit red.

Then, Juniper darts away, having spotted Sylus, Amias, and Jaerta.

“What did he say?” Twill asks when she joins the other two.

Morjan fidgets a moment, scratching idly at the back of their head. “Uh…”

They exchange a glance with Union, and they both dissolve into soft giggles.

Twill grins, equal parts confused and fond. “No, really, what did he say?”

Union recovers first and clears his throat. “He said that it’s good our bed at home is big,” he explains. “So all three of us can fit in it.”

Morjan snorts another laugh. “He was so serious,” they add. “And it sounded weird in Infernal.”

“He’s not wrong,” Twill points out.

Instead of replying, Morjan just tucks themselves under Twill’s arm. Their face presses against her ribs, and she can feel the fine tremors of their suppressed laughter.

On her other side, Union loops his arm through Twill’s and rests his cheek on her shoulder. “No, he isn’t wrong.”

“He knows how much I love you both,” Twill says. “I’m glad he feels comfortable enough to talk around you, even if he doesn’t say all that much.”

“I’m kind of excited to hear whatever he decides to say next.” Morjan lifts their face to look up at Union and Twill. Their smile makes Twill’s heart flutter.

“As am I, actually,” Union agrees.

Twill can’t keep the charmed smile off her face.


	14. Lovespoons (Twill/Union; Morjan/Twill)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love letters and lovespoons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow up to ---->[ this chapter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22811995/chapters/54516001)
> 
> ur gonna take my shitty art and ur gonna like it

> Twill writes letters to Union and Morjan instead of say the words aloud. She doesn’t trust herself to remember all the important things.
> 
> The first parts of both letters are the same: Twill explains what courting spoons, or lovespoons, are and their purpose. They’re chiefly meant to declare romantic intent. Admittedly, these ones are a little bit late. Morjan and Union already know her feelings. But it doesn’t bother Twill much that she’s going about this backwards. Following her clan’s traditions isn’t one of her skills.
> 
> Courting spoons are sometimes equivalent to an engagement ring, or a pre-engagement gift. Twill is honest: She’s committed to her partners, but she doesn’t need anything formal. She never imagined she’d get married, so it isn’t something she ever put much thought into. That two amazing people love her is almost beyond belief, so it’s never occurred to her to want or expect more.
> 
> If she isn’t using courting spoons in the most traditional sense, then why make them in the first place? Well, it’s the symbolism aspect that Twill’s always loved–the fact that each facet of a lovespoon, from the type of wood to the images carved, is heavily laden with meaning. Her partners know she likes giving gifts and tries to put a lot of thought into those gifts. Courting spoons are like that–full of thought and intention and effort and heart.
> 
> Twill never wants Union or Morjan to forget or doubt her love. She doesn’t think they will, but just in case they need a reminder–they’ll have a physical proof of her feelings now.
> 
> The letters diverge there, and are addressed to the recipient.

—

Union,

Who would I be without you? I’m not defined by you, of course, because it’s not helpful or good to live by someone else’s expectations. I’ve done that. It wasn’t pleasant.

You’ve helped show me that I’m the only person who can define who I am. And that person I am now wouldn’t be nearly as happy and healthy if you weren’t in my life. You are a source of warmth and kindness–things I didn’t have much of before leaving Fyrkat and the timberlands. I’m sure it was both the Everlight and the Wildmother who guided me to you.

I have the strength to keep doing my best because I know you’re there to encourage me and help me regain my feet when I stumble. For most of my life I took care of myself, but there’s something empowering about being looked after and looking after others–you included–and I wouldn’t have learned that if we never met.

You see me. After a lifetime of being invisible or shunted into the dark, I can’t think of the words to express how much your love means to me.

The letter you gave me after we returned from River’s Rest is always with me, in my heart as well as my pocket. Or backpack, or saddlebag. When you stayed in Vasselheim, I spent a lot of time re-reading that letter, telling myself I could be the person you saw when you looked at me. And then I realized that I already was that person, I just had to believe it and trust you.

The spoon I carved for you is made from white oak, and depicts a daffodil surrounded by ferns. Oak symbolizes strength, bravery, and wisdom. You have these traits in spades and inspire them in others. I can lean against you and know I won’t fall.

Daffodils have a lot of meanings. They’re one of the first flowers to appear in spring. They show that winter is at an end, and herald future warmth. Daffodils can also mean “regard” which seems fitting because it wasn’t long after meeting you that I felt comfortable around you. I respect you and your opinions and I have for as long as I’ve known you. I’m stubborn and when we first met having any real consideration for strangers was not always simple for me. But with you it was easy. I’ve always held you in high regard. That’s never cost me anything.

Ferns are given to show attraction, sincerity of intentions, and a hope for love. I’ve told you in person that you are beautiful, and I thought it might be good to put it in writing. You are good and kind and that shows from the inside out. So of course I’m attracted to you, and I say that with all sincerity. Every part of you–beautiful. Sometimes I feel kind of like a moth drawn to a flame when you’re near. I know I won’t get burned; it’s a privilege to be close to you.

I’m not sure if I’ve ever said so, but I fell in love with you without even realizing. It was one of the easiest things I’ve ever done. Recognizing that love was a very different story. I didn’t catch up with my heart very quickly. I was unsure of myself. So I buried those feelings deep, but they kept resurfacing in my dreams and making themselves loud in my thoughts while awake.

And then I decided to stop fighting. I chose to love you, to embrace what I felt. I never planned on saying anything, but I was sure that you wouldn’t want me to struggle like I was. You wouldn’t find my feelings wrong or offensive, regardless of whether or not you felt the same.

I never have to be less than my authentic self, because you love that self. And I love every part of you. Even on our worst days, that love isn’t shaken. I never doubt _us_. I feel like I’ve spent my entire life as a transient thing, never able to settle in a single place. Never really feeling steady or safe. But then there’s you–a home to someone who never learned what that means. I’m blessed that you are the one to teach me.

In truth, I don’t know enough languages to properly express how important you are, not just to me, but to the entire world.

I love you with everything I am and everything I’ll ever be.

Twill

—

Morjan,

You’ve shown me more than anyone else what being a good person is. I’m sure that sounds outlandish, but I’m completely serious. Knowing your struggle with who you are, what you want, and how to live has changed my worldview. Knowing you has helped me understand myself.

There have always been unspoken things that lived within me: People are only as good as their actions, and every person has inherent value, no matter their pasts. I would’ve never been able to believe in and make these truths real if you weren’t in my life.

I love who I am now, and who I’ll become, because I love you, whatever or whoever that entails. It’s amazing how we can grow and change, and I’m excited to celebrate that with you. That you love me is a gift, and no matter how I change, I’ll always cherish it.

The spoon I carved for you is made from cherry wood. The flower is a camellia. I did my best to make it look like the real thing, but camellias are one of those ruffle-y flowers, so it’s an exercise in skill and patience to carve those well. I hope I did okay. Beneath the flower is ivy.

Cherry trees have a newness about them, seeing as they flower in the spring. They also signify awakenings, rebirth, and splendor.

I didn’t see my first cherry tree until I traveled south. Even then, there’s only a handful here in Vasselheim. You’re my cherry tree in that sense–a surprising discovery that I didn’t know I’d make when I left Fyrkat. I didn’t know someone like you could exist, and similar to the first time I saw a cherry tree in bloom, I am in awe of you. 

I don’t know if you realize how beautiful you are. It can be hard to believe that when someone says so, but it’s true. Your splendor is so apparent. How could it not be?

I know you’re still discovering who you are and who you want to be. In a lot of ways, we’re all doing that, but very few people put in as much thought and effort as you do. Nothing is braver than walking towards your own rebirth. Nothing as powerful as looking around yourself and seeing what is and isn’t there, and then deciding to change that, to be better. You inspire me every day. It’s a blessing to be on this path with you.

Ivy represents friendship and affection. Long before I could even say it, I was grateful for your friendship. When I was first faced with your kindness, I didn’t know what you saw in me that so many others didn’t. I used to be so afraid of being seen and judged as something bad or unworthy. I’ve never felt wrong when you look at me. I know how to trust in myself and my own worth because you saw so easily. You never doubted it.

Ivy leaves have a lesser knowing meaning–they can express that giver is anxious to please the recipient. I want you to feel as valued and loved as you make me feel. I want for you to be happy. The past can cast long shadows, but I think we’re moving towards the light. Maybe not always directly, but we’ll get there.

Camellia is a flower of admiration. Particularly, admiration from afar, so it also means longing and a wish for romance. I’ve been in love with you since we were in Marquet, when you were at the lowest that I’ve seen you. You were just as deserving of love and gentleness then as you are now.

I didn’t tell you because you were in such pain, and I wanted to respect that, and respect your need to heal. It wasn’t a good time. I wasn’t ready to say or start anything and I don’t think you would’ve accepted or believed me then. So, I was determined to be your friend, as good a friend as I could be. If that’s where we stayed for the rest of our lives, and that was helpful and good for you, I would be wholly satisfied. I would be content carrying how I feel alone, if I could continue to appreciate you from afar.

I’m lucky that I can admire you up close now. There’s so much to see; I wouldn’t want to miss anything.

Between the two of us, there’s about enough romantic experience to fill a thimble. At one point, I thought that was something to be ashamed of. It isn’t. Not at all. It just means that I get to experience the newness of being in love. 

Even better, I get to be in love with _you_.

Twill


	15. Winter (Twill/Union)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> twill comes home

Twill kicks the toes of her boots against the porch stairs, shaking away the snow that’s all but glued to her soles. She can’t properly feel her nose, and if she stays outside any longer, her cheeks will be tender and ruddy with windburn. She’s home, though, and there are several lights on in the house.

Once the door is open, she’s wrapped up in a comforting wave of warmth, accompanied by the smell of Union’s cooking wafting from the kitchen. Twill tugs her boots off and hangs her coat on the pegs by the door, right next to Union’s. She brushes her hands through her hair, shedding the snowflakes and ice particles that accumulated there while she was out.

Generally, she can’t sneak up on Union-he’s too perceptive and she isn’t stealthy. But when she makes her way to the kitchen, she catches sight of him before he notices her. He’s standing at the counter beside the stove, mixing together ingredients in a bowl. 

He hums softly under his breath while he works, errant notes that could be from any sort of song, ambient and absentminded. His house slippers make a muted shuffling sound across the tile floors when he steps sideways to pull a measuring cup from the cabinets. The sleeves of his dark grey tunic are rolled up to his elbows; white apron strings cinch around his waist, tied in a neat bow at the small of his back.

The braid she wove into his hair this morning is still there, a plait of pale silver trailing down his neck and upper back. He’s stunning. Beautiful. Lovely. _Hers_.

Like the almost-melody he hums, a gossamer thought drifts through Twill’s mind: She’s going to marry him someday.

Twill forgets to breathe for a moment or two, then pulls in a sharp, shivery breath. That catches Union’s attention, and he spins to face her.

“Twill!” He grins, and Twill wonders if being in love can cause heart problems–hers feels like its skipping and jumping and doing somersaults. 

She echoes his smile and hurries forward. His hands have a dry, silky feeling from working with flour, but they’re as warm as always; she entwines their fingers, and kisses him, cutting off the words forming on his lips.

She draws away just enough to lean their foreheads together, noses bumping, eyelashes fluttering. He sways into her, and sets her hands on his waist. His palms skirt upwards, looping around the back of her neck. 

When he speaks, his lips graze hers. “Your face is cold, love.”

“Warm me up, then.”

He laughs, and tilts his face to kiss her again. “Happily.”


	16. Touch (Twill/Union)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> response to [this piece](https://broodingmischief.tumblr.com/post/631509345430126592/glorious-union)

Twill attends to the house shrine before breakfast each morning. It’s a small shine, located in an alcove in the entryway. Erathis, Sarenrae, and Melora all have their own areas within the shrine, marked by different-colored altar cloths and figurines. 

She’s lighting incense when Union bursts in through the front door. Elation surrounds him, a halo of light. He radiates warm normally, both physically and otherwise, but now there’s unfettered joy, too.

An involuntary smile creeps onto Twill’s face; she’s not sure what has him so happy, but she doesn’t need to know to be happy with him.

Twill turns fully to look at him, and her hands fly up to cover her mouth. His eye… His eyes! They look the same. They are the same: the left a perfect mirror of the right. It’s not the human-like prosthetic they found while adventuring, and it’s not the damaged, clouded one kept hidden behind an eyepatch.

A flash of memory echoes through Twill–in her groggy, half-asleep state this morning, he’d said something about his eye, then flew out of the room too quickly for Twill to process his words fully. She ended up with falling back asleep moments later, with Morjan snuggled more or less on top of her.

She rises from where she’s kneeling by the shrine, legs unsteady, and makes her way to him. He’s smiling, brighter than the sun. Her fingertips skirt along his jaw, and she cups his face in her hands. He grasp her shirt near her hips.

She’s in awe. Her eyes dart between his–his matching eyes, seeing and whole.

Her heart thunders, caught in a feedback loop of excitement. “How–?”

“A spell,” he breathes, a little bit out of breath, as if he ran home.

She brushes her lips over the scar on his forehead, the one that nearly took him from her. Then, she kisses the scars near his brow and on his cheek, the ones that cut deeper than just skin and sight. Those are from before they met, and before she ever knew someone like him could exist.

She draws back; his eyes blink open. He leans towards her, seeking her touch again.

“Amazing,” she says, mostly referring to his spellcasting abilities.

Against his lips, she whispers, “Magnificent.” She applies the word to everything that makes him who he is, and then kisses him to say all the things words cannot.


	17. Growth (Morjan/Twill)

Twill slips outside after dinner; she presses a kiss to Union’s cheek and says she’ll be back soon. He smiles, nods, and squeezes her hand before she goes. Union’s step-father is in the middle of a story that Twill wants to hear but… she’ll ask about it later, maybe.

Union’s parents have a nice home in Whitestone, not too far from the Arryn estate. Compared to Sylus’ childhood home, Union’s is modest and comfortable–a place where people _live_. The thought of growing up in the Arryn manor is daunting. The stonework itself seems held together by the gravitas of the family’s noble history.

Union’s childhood home is warm, and that’s on the people who live there–his mother and step-father.

Twill steps out onto the small front porch and sits on the stone steps that lead down to the walkway and street.

The Alabaster Sierras surround Whitestone like a gentle, steely crown. Beyond the city walls, farmlands and the Parchwood mark the countryside in a patchwork of green. In some ways it reminds her of home, but less cold. It feels like the Wildmother holds the valley in her hands, protective. Pelor and Erathis keep sway in the city proper, but Melora’s presence saturates the wider world–she’s a steady force in the mountains and the timberlands.

The sun falls behind the highest peaks; torchlight and lanterns begin to brighten the city. Smoke drifts from nearby chimneys, looking like tiny echoes of the wispy clouds in a darkening sky.

Twill’s on her own for a few minutes, then, appearing like a wraith, Morjan sits beside her.

“You okay?” Morjan wonders.

She nods. “Yeah. I just needed some air.”

“Should I go back?” 

“Only if you want to. I wouldn’t mind your company.”

Morjan loops their arm around Twill’s and leans against her.

Together, they watch the handful of people in the streets. Likely, everyone is going home for the evening. To dinners and families and, eventually, sleep. 

“I like Union’s parents,” Twill says.

“They’re nice.”

“I have weird feelings about parents.”

Morjan makes a sound like they’re trying not to laugh. “Weird how?”

“Well, you know my parents.”

“They’re shitty.”

“Yeah. And we just met Union’s parents today but I already feel loved by them? When Grace hugged me earlier, I kind of wanted to cry?”

“You looked happy, though.”

“I was. That’s why it’s weird. And overwhelming. I’m still not used to being liked by people who don’t actually know me that well. I know it wasn’t always easy for Union growing up. I don’t think growing up is ever really that easy, but he had people who loved him. I’m glad he had that. I was worried I was going to be bitter or upset, basically seeing firsthand what I didn’t have as a kid.”

“You’re not really a bitter person, Twill.”

“I’m not?”

Morjan leans back and studies Twill’s face. They shake their head. “No. You get angry for good reasons, but that’s different.”

Twill isn’t disappointed, just confused. “I used to be bitter. I thought it was going to eat me alive.”

“It’s hard not to be bitter when you’re alone.”

Twill finds Morjan’s hand and kisses their knuckles. “You wanna head back inside? I was promised cake and I’ll be sad if I missed it.”

Morjan snorts. “Like they’d start without you.”

She stands and pulls them up with her. She holds the door for them, and casts a final glance back at the rest of Whitestone. 

Stars begin to blink awake in the sky. The Sun Tree rises to meet them, its crown visible above the rooftops; russet leaves and pale, ever-blooming flowers shift in the cool night wind. Every aspect of the world grows and changes and continues. Twill is no different.


End file.
